Alone With You
by dancingirl87
Summary: Felicity wants a night alone and Oliver, surprisingly, does not. Submission for Flash Fiction Prompt #4.


Submission for prompt #4 of the Flash Fiction Challenge. This one was tricky for me. It turned out much more serious than I intended, but I hope you enjoy!

Set sometime between Season 2 and 3.

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><p>With a sigh, Felicity falls back onto her couch and reaches for her remote and her glass of wine. She's finally home and able to relax. The past few days have been a flurry of activity, filled with tracking down Kevin Yantzi, a new big bad with surprisingly original methods of getting information. Felicity can never un-see some of the video and images she had to sift through to find his location and devise a plan to take him down, and she's decided that that alone has earned her at least two glasses of her favourite red.<p>

Maybe three, she muses, if she takes into account the moment tonight when she heard that gunshot and couldn't even function until she heard Oliver's voice roughly whisper that he was alive.

Things between she and Oliver have been okay since Sladegate. Well, they're okay but they aren't the same. It's as though their previous easy rhythm has been bumped off-track and now they can't quite sync together again. Felicity blames Oliver's declaration at the mansion. She was perfectly fine boxing that moment and those three little words up and not allowing herself to examine it over and over. But then she'd given him an out on Lian Yu and he _hadn't taken it_. And now she doesn't know what that means, but she's pretty sure Oliver doesn't know either.

And here she is. Finally an evening to herself that she plans to spend with her queue of Netflix shows and a bottle of red. Maybe some mint chip, if she's feeling especially risky.

The credits have just rolled on her first episode of Downton Abbey when there's a soft knock on her front door. The sound jerks her out of 18th century Britain and into present day Starling City and her heart leaps into her throat because what if Yantzi actually wasn't dead. In her experience, people tend to come back to life pretty often, so it's definitely not outside the realm of possibility.

She untucks her feet and hurries to the door. When it's Oliver standing on the other side, dressed in jeans, a dark shirt, and his leather jacket, she is confused, to say the least. It's clearly not Arrow business, so why is he interrupting her night of TV and wine?

"Who's dead? Or alive? God, I hope it's not that creep, Yantzi, because even though you don't do the killing thing anymore, he died anyways and I feel it really was for the better, because no amount of time in jail would change his disgusting ways and- Oh no, is someone else dead?"

Oliver raises his eyebrows ever so slightly at her. "No one is dead, Felicity."

She shivers. He says her name so deliciously sometimes. Then she mentally shakes her head at herself. Not going there. Nope.

"Well," she says, bracing a hand on the door above her head, "If no one is dead, or miraculously alive I'm assuming, because I'd hope you'd lead with that after the day we've had, then I need to get back to my couch." She gestures halfheartedly behind her and pointedly ignores the way Oliver's face kind of falls at her dismissal. Because no. She has given every second of her time to this mission and she deserves a night off.

Understanding flows into Oliver's eyes. "Oh. Right. Of course, Felicity, I'm sorry for bothering you."

He gives her a gentle smile and Felicity is mentally kicking herself before he finishes speaking because of course, that whole thing had to actually come out of her mouth.

Oliver reaches out a hand and places it on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. Felicity smiles up at him, meeting his eyes. There's definitely been a lack of touching in the past few months and it hasn't escaped her notice. After a night like they've had, it's nice to feel that Oliver is solid and alive and standing before her.

"Goodnight, Felicity," he says and with one last squeeze, turns to leave. She keeps eye contact as long as she can, trying to read the emotions running through his eyes, but all she can settle on is that he's upset about something. She curses their off the rails relationship because she used to be able to read him like a book and now she feels like she's floundering in the dark.

He reaches the end of her little walkway before she stumbles out after him, without even thinking. "Oliver! Hang on. Wait a second."

He abruptly stops and turns and she nearly barrels into him in her rush to catch him. His hands go to her wrists, encircling them gently and little tendrils of heat rush up her arms and into her chest. Her hands brace on his chest and she snorts out a little laugh before she catches herself. Obviously, _this_ is the closest they've been in months.

Oliver seems to realize how closely he's holding her to him and he lets go of her wrists, fingers slowly trailing from her skin. She lets her hands drop from his chest and takes a deliberate step back. He watches her, that same lost expression still on his face.

Biting her lip, she suddenly feels nervous. She's not sure what possessed her to chase after him into the street, abandoning her wine and her friends at the Abbey, besides the fact that he had searched her out tonight and he was sad and that was something she felt compelled to help him with.

"Is everything- I mean, are you… Are you okay, Oliver?" She looks up at him, concern evident on her face and his eyes look steadily back at her.

He doesn't say anything at first, but she can see thoughts running through his head as he works through what he wants to say, weighing each word before choosing it. She waits, because somehow this situation feels more intense than it did when they were standing in her doorway. She hopes that this isn't going to be another repeat of their conversation in the mansion, or on the island, because she doesn't know if her heart can take anymore.

Oliver clears his throat and takes a breath. Felicity watches his chest rise and fall.

"Tonight," he starts, blue eyes looking into hers like he's trying to tell her more than he can say, "I wasn't sure I was going to get out of there."

Felicity reaches out a hand, suddenly needing to touch him, because she hadn't been sure either. She wraps her fingers around his hand, and gives it a squeeze, encouraging him to continue.

"I was fighting Yantzi, and Diggle was in the next room taking care of the other guy, and then they were all around me and there was a gun and I just- I didn't see it." He shakes his head like he can't believe his actions, breaking eye contact with her.

Felicity swallows because if she's being honest, that gunshot had scared the crap of her. She hadn't been able to get a thermal read through the reinforced walls, so they'd basically gone in blind. None of them had expected the extra men to come rushing in, armed with machine guns, distracting both Oliver and John enough for one of them to get off a couple shots at her boys.

"Felicity," he says, suddenly sounding more confident than he has since he first greeted her at her door, "I heard those shots and I dropped and I knew I'd been hit but everything… Everything just went silent around me. And then all I could hear was you. Just saying please. 'Please, Oliver.' That's it." His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he steps closer to her. "I swear, Felicity, it was the best thing I've ever heard. I don't think I'd have gotten out of there without you."

He squeezes her hand, fingers moving to lace between hers, and it's like this little silent shift. It's not the first time she's helped him, nor will it be the last. But she looks at him and that thing that had knocked them off-kilter all those months ago has shifted them almost back into place. Because she can see the look in his eyes; he's grateful, and is not sure how else to tell her how much he needs her. To be his partner and to watch his back and reassure him and stand up to him.

She doesn't remember saying anything in those few moments after the shots. Just remembers her heart stopping, stomach dropping, her whole body freezing with a hand to her ear, frantic to hear his voice. And then he'd gasped and spoken and her world had kept spinning.

She smiles up at him. "Do you want to come inside? I've got an excellent shiraz and an incredibly large Netflix queue I was planning on making my way through tonight."

She can tell that he doesn't want to be alone right now, and if she can help him with this one thing, then she's going to do it. He smiles back at her and his shoulders seem to relax a tiny bit. She leads him inside, explaining his viewing options, and she doesn't let go of his hand.

He doesn't let go either. She wakes on her couch the next morning, head resting on Oliver's shoulder, to find their fingers still laced tightly together and her chest warms.

They are going to be okay.

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><p>Thank you so much to everyone who has readcommented/bookmarked/kudosed (is that a word?) my work so far. I feel so welcomed into the Arrow fandom and I'm enjoying myself immensely.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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